January Evening
by heka-tosh
Summary: For Johnlockchallenges on tumblr, based on the prompt: "Abnormally cuddly Sherlock, confused John" Made for hawkbitch. I hope she'll like it even though I wrote way more than I expected. C:


Were they to expect snowfall tonight? The thick grey cover of clouds above London and the unusual biting cold made it seem likely, Sherlock wasn't a meteorologist though.

The air was dry and yet it felt oddly appropriate how each chilly breath scraped his throat, sinking into his lungs and lowering the temperature in his limbs. The tall detective exhaled through slightly parted lips, a puff of steam did little consolation as company.

The sight of warm light from the windows of 221b Baker Street, so welcoming and familiar it would make his excellent mood even better. It was easy to ignore the cold when he reveled in the aftermath of a newly solved case.

Sherlock closed the cab door and rounded the vehicle, his joints felt a little stiff but they'd be inside soon enough. He stared towards the façade of their flat, lights reflecting in his icy blue eyes as he opened the opposite door for John, who stepped out after a moment. The blond top of his head became visible in the corner of his eyes, he heard a soft grunt not unlike those John usually let out when he was about to comment on something Sherlock had done.

"No, it's fine. I'll pay the cabbie, thank you for asking." Watson chimed sarcastically.

"Mmmh…" The younger man hummed as a reply, indicating how he wasn't quite listening.

He didn't need to listen to the words to know the sound of John Watson being pleased with Sherlock by heart, the doctor relished each time they solved a case almost as much as Sherlock did. It'd grant him weeks of Sherlock being at ease, and that was an ataractic drug for John too. As much as his friend tried to sound harsh, they were both wrapped in a veil of post-case tranquility, and nothing could beat that.

To make it complete: go inside and have a cuppa.

Sherlock pulled his gloves off once they entered 221B Baker Street, they had done little to warm his hands anyway. It would be nice with some warmth. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when he felt the warmth of the hall, or more like lack-thereof. John had not expected his sudden halt and walked right into his back.

"Uhff-" John grunted, stepping backwards while Sherlock stumbled forward to regain their balance.

"What's the matter?" John asked, a few creases sharpening as he furrowed his brows, he stepped past him with a sigh.

Sherlock looked at him fleetingly before his gaze turned to Mrs. Hudson's door.

"The heat is off." Sherlock stated, but made no move to approach Mrs. Hudson's door. No need to, seconds later the door was opened to reveal their landlady in a large jumper and fuzzy slippers.

"Oh there you boys are, I sent you a text, Sherlock. Didn't you get it?" She asked as she approached the two men, John was standing on the lowest step of the stairs, but there seemed to be a problem, so he stayed right there.

"I did, we've had more pressing matters, though- So it was neglected." Sherlock said, but it didn't sound as dismissive as it usually did, and Mrs. Hudson picked up on that.

"Just solved a case, have you?" She purred pleasantly and smiled, looking from Sherlock to John, who gave her a tightlipped smile in return.

Sherlock could see that John was pretty tired, now that they had wrapped up such a particularly long case. Sherlock had described it as invigorating while John had called it tedious.

"What did you want, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked simply as he took off his scarf.

"I noticed the heating had turned off while you lads were out, both my flat and yours are freezing!" Sherlock frowned and shifted his weight on his feet.

How bothersome that the heating would turn off tonight. Mrs. Hudson nodded to the staircase as she continued.

"I tried a few things but nothing worked, so I called the plumber. He'll come around one o'clock tomorrow, you'll survive the night I hope." The petite woman finished the sentence with a good-hearted laugh.

"Shouldn't be a problem, it's actually pretty nice." John said, "Thank you Mrs. Hudson, have a good night." he added as he turned and walked up the stairs.

Sherlock's eyes lingered on his back as he ascended. He wasn't quite as pleased about the lack of warmth as John, was that man ever cold?

"Goodnight John." Mrs. Hudson called after him and turned to Sherlock.

"I'm heading to bed, make some tea and light up the fireplace, that should warm you up. You look like your about to freeze solid." She said with a tint of worry in her voice, she stroked Sherlock's arm and he frowned, sending her a glare.

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson."

"Or you could always cozy up on the couch." The landlady suggested briskly and winked at him. "Good night, Sherlock!" She giggled and walked back to the door, Sherlock watched her with a slightly puzzled scowl.

Sherlock walked up the stairs to the flat and shivered once he entered their living room, it was even colder up here! He considered keeping his coat on just as John exited the kitchen.

"I put the kettle on." John said as he knelt down and removed the fireplace screen from the hearth, he put some wood into the firebox.

"Stroke of bad luck that the heating would stop working on such a cold day, I suppose." John said idly as he ripped a piece of yesterday's paper off.

"There is no thing as good or bad luck, John. It's all chance and probability." Sherlock commented pointedly.

John glanced at him with an unimpressed expression, he lit the page on fire with a match and watched the flames eat the black letters and gnaw down a picture upon the thin paper. The warm light danced in his eyes and on his features. He threw the little ember onto the firewood and watched it take hold and lick the dried bark. Once the fire had gotten started, he put the screen back and rose.

Sherlock had watched him, not sure why- but it was like a brief flurry, or a flutter in his chest as he watched John Watson handle the fire. He still hadn't taken off his coat, his scarf hanging from his fingers. His face had grown a little hot,John brushed his trousers off. His friend was about to walk back into the kitchen when he noticed that Sherlock was still standing there.

"Hm?" The doctor barely had time to hum before Sherlock removed his coat and hung it up, as if nothing.

"Do we have any biscuits?" Sherlock asked, walking past John into the kitchen quickly.

"If you haven't eaten them all, then yes." John answered with raised eyebrows at Sherlock's behavior, turning the stove off and taking the kettle of boiled water.

Moments later, they had gotten cups and biscuits out and the tea was served. Sherlock looked into the cup as he closed his elegant hands around it. The contrast of cold hands and parboiled heat was one step from painful. He hadn't flinched but John seemed to react anyway.

"Christ, Sherlock. You're really that cold?"

Sherlock turned his head just in time to catch sight of John's hand above Sherlock's wrist before they touched. John's hand was robust and there too was a distinct difference in temperature, the reaction was stronger though, the feel of John's skin on his and the pressure of his touch. The reaction was much more difficult to mask, too. Sherlock twitched notably and stared at John, it probably looked like he had just offended him. For Sherlock he probably had in a way.

"I'm fine, John." He snarled with recomposed cool.

"I can handle the cold." He added childishly when John tilted his head in plain doubt.

"You shivered during the entire car-ride home." John pointed out and put his hands on his hips, giving him an air of authority, much like the captain he was. The tender worry on John's behalf wasn't particularly appreciated right now, sadly- And his words gained him a sharp glower.

"Oh for Christ sake, John. I'm not freezing to death, Am I!? Let me be!" Sherlock snapped and John fell back in surprise at the outburst. He blinked at the detective for a moment or so.

"Alright, princess. Excuse me for caring." He said, picking up his cup and exiting the kitchen, he left Sherlock to the realization that his course of action maybe hadn't been entirely thought through.

He heard John turn on the telly out in the living room, but he wasn't sitting in his chair, so he was probably sitting on the sofa. Deliberate choice? In an act of defiance and assertion that John wouldn't put up with Sherlock when he because exceptionally rude, he should have just sat down in his chair, close to the fire. But no, he chose the sofa. As far away from Sherlock as possible? A probability.

If only his mind could wander off like it so easily did when he wanted it too otherwise, he found himself lodged to the _now_, the _here_. John was an expert at silent passive aggressive scolding by now. And it was a finger jabbing him in the ribs.

Sherlock was able to distract himself until he heard John open his laptop and type in his password. He really couldn't wait longer than 3 minutes to start writing the blog post about the closed case, could he? Sherlock could practically hear which keys he was pressing too, not that he didn't already know John's 34th password. You'd think that after 10 or so passwords you'd try something difficult that Sherlock would need more than twenty minutes to guess. 'crackedwhitemug321', really, John? He couldn't possibly have made it easier to guess either.

John had been sitting one afternoon with a cup which he seemed to like particularly, it was cracked at the edge. Sherlock had heard him chuckle, looked up from cleaning his violin-bow to see John sitting there, holding the cup. He remembered that distinct content smile with a hint of pride on his lips, the squint of his eyes and the wrinkles below them. Immaculate, never mind the scars of war, the troubles of past, present and future.

"_Problem?" _Sherlock had asked and John's lips had curled into something impish, rare for him. His eyes had twinkled when he had looked back at Sherlock and laughed, shaken his head and said that it was nothing.

Nothing.

Oh but it wasn't just nothing, thinking back: That was the moment Sherlock had known he's never want to be without John. The perfect picture of what he wanted. John's was an expression of comfort and security, relaxed and so casual. Acceptance. The way the midday sun sent its pale light over the doctor's face, illuminating the blue eyes right beneath his brows. His hair had reflected the light with dull results, yet causing an impeccable halo by his head.

Home, John was home. No matter where, or when, John was the point of where Sherlock would call his haven.

How had Sherlock come to think about that moment now again? How was that instance of the past relevant?

Right. The password. Sherlock almost scoffed, but maintained a lopsided smile as he stared at the table, or more like through it, through anything.

Later that day, after the beautiful sight of his blogger thinking himself so, so clever- John had announced he had come up with a password Sherlock would have a much more difficult time deciphering. Sherlock had raised his eyebrows in feigned amazement, a hue of exaggeration that had made John laugh. He loved making John laugh. Sherlock had then humored John by coming up with some stupid, easy guesses at what the password could be when he practically knew it already. He could appreciate seeing John feel astute sometimes, though.

He tried the password he had in mind later when John had gone to bed and after three tries he got it right.

Sherlock suddenly found himself back in the kitchen, okay- _There _he had had spaced out completely. How much time had passed? The cup was still very warm, he took a sip and almost burned his tongue on it. So he had probably been gone for five minutes. Back to reality, John was a little pissed at him.

He felt like there was no reason to apologize though, he hadn't done something overtly wrong. He felt the chill on the back of his hands, fingers loosely around the cup. It was cold, and the fireplace was making very slow work of heating the flat. The detective shivered a little and rose. That was about it, however- As he didn't know what to do, he didn't like when John was cross with him, of course. He could act like he didn't care of course, and John would drop it eventually, but then there was the case. More like post-case, from experience, John would take much longer to shake these sort of occurrences off when they didn't currently have a case. He'd need to make it up to him somehow, or distract his thoughts from it with something more appealing, possibly more alarming. Like what?

He could shock the anger off, if handled correctly. Hmm… Yes. It would benefit them both these upcoming days and perhaps weeks to be sure. But what would he do exactly.

Sherlock walked past the table, out of the kitchen and stopped. He glanced over in John's direction, the blogger shifted- John had taken note of Sherlock exiting the kitchen but acted like he hadn't. He kept typing after a brief delay. But Sherlock kept watching him.

_Hmmm… Mm… Perhaps- No. Wait… Maybe… Mmmf… _He pondered on different possibilities to utilize while he took a sip from the tea only to actually burn his tongue this time. Ow.

He saw John lean back and reach for his own tea, thinking over a particular bit of text on the screen as he drank from his tea. Sherlock blinked, John seemed to be more tolerable to heat, and more of a resistance to cold. That reminded Sherlock once more, cold flat. The leer he sent towards the fireplace was that of a betrayed man, forsaken by his only hope for warmth… Or was it…?

His silently dramatic expression faded when he was struck by an idea. An idea that would benefit him more than any of his earlier ones, and he had a relatively good reason to do it too. It was perfect! He was a genius!

Sherlock's face must have lit up like a lamp or something, because John would raise his gaze towards him and gain a brief expression of surprise and confusion.

"Uh-… You alright there?" He asked with a cocked eyebrow. Sherlock blinked and tilted his head a little where he stood, behind John's empty armchair.

"Mm yes. How so?"

"You looked pretty sinister there for a while." John said, the corner of his mouth threatening to pull back. John successfully thought the urge to smile, but failed at hiding the subtle rise of blood to his face.

"I get that a lot." Sherlock replied with a smile and that popped John's resistance, the doctor laughed and Sherlock grinned at the sight. _Beautiful._

It didn't last for long before John remembered he was upset with him, his face settled into neutral coldness and he looked back at the screen. The volume of the telly had been turned down, but the soft mumble of voices still resonated from it.

**Point A**. Sofa. **Excuse 1**. Watch telly.

Sherlock turned and walked over towards the sofa, plan in movement. He was unsure though, he knew what the goal was but actually going about it made his pulse quicken. He inched in between the sofa and the coffee table before sitting down next to John, closer than necessary. Deliberately close, a big portion of the couch was unused.

John shifted once more next to him, Sherlock felt his eyes on him, but the detective was looking at the television, listening to the talk show currently airing. John slowly began typing again until he was back in his flow.

So far so good.

**Point B.** Closer. **Excuse 2.** John is warm.

**Problem: **Going about getting closer, John had his laptop I in his lap. Possibly problematic, how to solve that…?

Sherlock hesitated, then gathered courage and reached over John's arms to the remote, John froze for a split second, then relaxed. He hadn't noticed how Sherlock was now slightly closer to him. Close enough to faintly feel his warmth, his aura. Ohh, it was tempting.

Let's see what was on the other channels, they had gone through about 4 channels before John suddenly stopped him.

"Oi, wait go back a channel." He said, Sherlock tapped back once and felt a surge of satisfaction when John closed his laptop and put it away. Must be a show he likes, then.

They watched the show for a few minutes, boring. Awfully boring. Sherlock contained his complaints though, that wouldn't help him now. He trembled a little from the cold, it so easily bit through his jacket and shirt. Then there was John with his bloody soft jumpers! He just wanted to nuzzle up against him and steal his warmth, face against John's neck.

That was the **goal**, wasn't it?

He drank from his slightly cooler tea and put the cup down on the coffee table, he glanced at John who was watching the telly. His profile was rimmed by the yellow light.

_Now or never, _He thought and tilted to the side, his head ending up on John's shoulder, Sherlock's shoulder touching his roommate's arm.

The reaction was instant, but not a red light. John flinched a little at the contact and turned his head to Sherlock with a baffled look on his face. Sherlock kept his eyes closed and face neutral, waiting for John to either tell him to stop or… Well he hadn't considered what good reactions there could be, quite honestly. For a moment the detective allowed himself to enjoy how warm John was, touching him did invoke chemical reactions in Sherlock's brain he could only describe as pleasant.

"You alright?" The tone of his voice surprisingly gentle, he could hear the concern too. Sherlock didn't like to openly admit it, but he loved when John cared for him. He liked to see the guardian doctor shine through, as long as it wasn't unnecessary. Even when John had showed worry for him earlier, even if it was because of something so trivial as being cold. He had felt a tinge of appreciation, coupled with annoyance, of course.

"Yes, we went over this fifteen minutes ago." Sherlock replied and John became still, remembering he should be mad at Sherlock. This was unusual behavior on Mr. Holme's side, however, and that probably kept John from snapping back.

"Yes, we did. I suppose that has a connection to what you're currently doing?"

"Astounding deduction, Dr. Watson."

John huffed a little, bordering a chuckle.

"Might the amazing detective, 12 years old and a half, explain to those of lesser intelligence?"

Sherlock smirked a little at that and pulled his legs up beneath him.

"You seemed worried about me being cold. As a matter of fact I'm freezing and the fire isn't heating the flat fast enough. You're warm, problem solved." He informed John with more ease than he felt like and crossed his arms over his chest, nuzzling his head to a comfortable spot against John's shoulder. He would have preferred being even closer for maximum results but that didn't sound plausible _quite_ yet.

"You know you could just sit in front of the fireplace, right? Or get a jumper from your room, _or_ a dressing gown?" John pointed out with amusement, he didn't sound uncomfortable though.

"Boring." Was Sherlock's defense.

John would have to pointlessly grumble about something else, and he knew it. Sherlock was victorious anyway. The doctor would pull the usual card, however.

"You know what this would look like to anyone walking in here, right?"

"Of course."

His roommate hesitated, Sherlock continued.

"Luckily for _you_-" He said with some emphasis. He took advantage of the way John was unconsciously turned towards him now and scooted closer, knees resting on top of John's thighs. He caught a glimpse of John turning his head towards the telly, eyes wide and face growing red.

This was going way better than expected!

Sherlock dropped his head down against John's chest, he heard john's swallow, felt the tiny nervous movement. "-no one will. It's a Saturday evening, I just solved a case. Some appreciation would be in order."

He felt John's eyes on the top of his head.

"I always praise you, Sherlock." He rebutted, but he could hear the smile in his voice. It gave Sherlock a moment of nervousness. "You're just trying to excuse the fact that you want to cuddle?"

Biologically, a blush shouldn't have been able to bloom out that quickly on his face and neck.

"Nnnooo." Sherlock droned, searching for a good response. "It's a matter of warmth, which you have plenty of." He didn't feel half as secure as he had a minute ago, spirits didn't feel so high anymore either and he considered pulling back.

He was just about to when John rose his arm and put it around Sherlock's shoulders, his arm on Sherlock's back, hand secure on his upper arm. Sherlock stared down at the floor.

"Who said you'd _need_ an excuse?" John said with the most refreshing trace of a laugh and Sherlock was overtaken by relief. He almost melted against John and sighed, closing his eyes. This was really cozy, he liked it.

"No one, it's logical, considering." Sherlock mumbled with a small quirk of his lips and cheeks rosy from a blush. The younger male inched closer again and turned so that his chest rested against John's front.

"Oi, how close you going to get?" John asked with a nervy quip, he was about to continue his befuddled protesting when Sherlock tucked his head under the captain's chin, which silenced him for a moment.

Might as well complete it, he thought and Sherlock nestled up as much as possible against John, a hand on the other side of his chest, curled into the fabric of John's atrociously ugly jumper. This was warming him up very nicely, maybe they should do this again. He'd love that, he could take notes perhaps. It would be a fulfilling survey.

John seemed to take a while to work his confusion out but then moved a little to get more comfortable. He now rested his back against the armrest, a bit more leaned into the sofa.

"Well… Eh- Isn't so bad…" John murmured, Sherlock couldn't see his face, but he sounded flustered. "What you smiling for?"

"Nothing." Sherlock cooed from where he rested his head against him, smiling widely.

Success! Victory, the goal was reached.

Now, he could just enjoy it, and he did.

Almost fell asleep before John commented about something on the telly, his voice sounded thick and pleasant. Sherlock could feel the words being spoken, how they vibrated through John's chest.

"Hmm… Sorry, what?" he hadn't actually picked up what john had said.

"I said: Even I can make out what's going to happen in this movie."

"Mmh…" Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the television, some romance movie. He looked for about five seconds before nuzzling his head back under John's chin, the doctor choked a giggle when Sherlock's hair tickled the stubble on his neck.

"That gentleman is interested in that lady, but she's too passionate about her career to think about romance. I deduce that he'll ask her out to lunch." Sherlock said dismissively.

"Yes, and she'll accept." John guessed. "But… I think she'll reject him when she realizes he wants to be more than friends." He added and scratched his cheek thoughtfully.

Sherlock looked at the telly again, not sure why but he watched the film with him. They had both guessed right, the woman was not interested in dating.

"Alright, what will happen now?" John asked, Sherlock thought for a moment.

"They'll stay friends, spend time together a lot and people will assume they're a couple. This will lead to several uncomfortable scenes where they are subjected to their unspoken feelings about each other."

"He'll keep assuming she's not interested, she'll believe he isn't anymore." John added smoothly.

Sherlock felt an odd, looming feeling at the back of his head. He couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"They'll dance around each other until they're forced to confront their feelings. "

"Sounds familiar." John scoffed, Sherlock blinked.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock turned his head enough to look John in the eyes, Dr. Watson raised his brows and gave him a look like he wasn't sure if Sherlock was serious or not.

"Sherlock, Come on." He gestured to them both, where they lied cuddled up on the sofa. "This?" he smiled and studied Sherlock's expression of bewilderment. His face and neck was flushed by now, but he wasn't alone, John too had turned a little red in the face.

Sherlock had not at all expected the night to turn out like this, what was it even turning into? He was being called out on his unexpected behavior. Really, what had he expected? But what was coming next, John obviously understood by now. He probably understood that Sherlock was feeling something more than friendship. What would John say though? Reject him?

Sherlock wasn't blind to the fact that John had been attracted to him from the start, but he wasn't so sure anymore. Had John dropped any hopes of them being a possibility before Sherlock had started to realize his own feelings?

It would make sense, why would John continue to be with a man who barely had had a grasp of his feelings before?

Sherlock looked down took a deep breath and nodded.

"I… Supposed it was a bit rushed and… Unexpected. It won't happen again."

Sherlock was getting up, about to sit back from John. He could feel an ache start in his heart.

There was a hand by his waist and he yelped as he was pulled back down to John, Sherlock stared into his eyes with a tense expression.

"What you on about?" John said and squinted at Sherlock, who was feeling cold sweat down his back.

"You heard me." Sherlock said, biting back frustration and panic. He didn't like this situation at all. "I'm about to leave you alone, do we have to drag it out?"

John stared at Sherlock. "Wait… What- You think I… Oh…" he frowned, so did Sherlock. Hard to tell which one of them were the most confused right now. Sherlock growled and turned his face away.

"I've been presumptuous about your feelings I take it." Sherlock whispered with simmering bitterness.

"Sherlock…" The way john spoke his name made it hurt even more, against his better judgment, Sherlock turned to look at John. He looked serious, but not resentful. "You're a genius, but sometimes you're seriously stupid."

Sherlock's mouth fell open, he was about to argue when John grabbed him by the jaw and pulled him closer until their lips locked.

Sherlock stared in utter, unhinged shock at John's closed eyes. What was going on? Why was John kissing him? Had he misread the entire conversation? What was he supposed to feel right now? He was just scared and confused and- John's lips moved against his, they were soft, damp and warm. They were wonderful and distracting, not that they hadn't always been distracting but that was from just watching them.

The pain in his chest was dissolving, giving room to something clearer. It suddenly became obvious, John hadn't been rejecting him, he had been addressing… Them. Sherlock and him.

John felt the same.

Sherlock's finally got a grip of himself, powered by the flutter that had now completely replaced the earlier ache. His lips responded to John's, he wasn't as good a kisser as John, and that became mind-blowingly clear as Sherlock began melting against his roommate.

John's had a hand on his jaw, the other on his waist. Sherlock snaked his arms around his neck in response, one hand in John's blond hair. John turned his head to get closer, make the kiss deeper.

John sucked on sherlock's bottom lip, running his tongue along the line of his inner lip so gently Sherlock couldn't stop from whimpering into the kiss.

It continued for several minutes, he didn't want it to stop, the kiss became heated and just a little sloppy. He felt warm and fuzzy and completely out of it.

When the kiss ended, they just laid there, foreheads together, heavy breaths mingling and mixing. Their eyes met, pupils blown wide and dark. Then they smiled at each other for a moment before John was the first to giggle, Sherlock couldn't help joining in and soon they were a pile of limbs and laughter.

When they finally calmed down, they were panting more than from the kiss. Sherlock finally rose a little from John's chest so that they could both sit upright.

"Another mystery solved, Sherlock?" John asked with a grin and Sherlock smiled gingerly back at him.

"Indeed." He reached up to touch John's face and cupped his jaw, Sherlock leaned closer.

"Thanks to you, Dr. Watson."


End file.
